


A different kind of father

by Smim



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smim/pseuds/Smim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock's son, Hamish, is special; undoubtedly so..but in more ways than his dad and father could have ever imagined. As the events leading up to the Avengers unfold and their son grows up more is revealed to be not quite right; Hamish doesn't appear to suffer the cold, it rains whenever he cries and he seems to be suffering an odd repetitive dream every Christmas...but then why see a man in green and not in red? Because, after all, as his parents assume it must be Santa he's dreaming of? But then in the year of the avengers event the mysterious man in green doesn't turn up...but some far more unwelcome visitors do; and of course, so do the worlds favourite heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He doesn't feel the cold

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this head cannon somewhere and now I can't get it out of my head...so here's some christmasness :)

The snow was unusually heavy this year, of course it was customary for it to snow in London at Christmas time but the skies had been incredibly generous this time round and heavy, thick layers of snow coated every surface and every nook and cranny it could seep into, making the whole atmosphere utterly freezing. However, the cold did not dishearten most, including one Hamish Watson-Holmes; a bright, determined boy at just the age of five who revelled in the chilliness of the current weather and would often turn up completely sodden after school, much to his parents’ dismay. Hamish loved the wintery winds, and cherished the way they tickled his skin making him feel more alive and awake; sharpening his senses almost.  
On the last day of the Christmas term the winds were especially wild and Hamish smiled at the sensation of the wind whipping through his dark, chestnut curls as he waited patiently for Mrs. Hudson; his parents were both busy that afternoon so it was of course her who was coming to fetch him. The school itself was bustling with children as the snow lazily fell down, but Hamish paid them no heed; his eyes fixed on the small pathway that entered the playground where he knew Mrs. Hudson would appear through. She might not have been as funny as Hamish’s dad or father but he still loved her, she would often tell him silly stories about when his parents had gotten into trouble or about when they’d first met and sometimes she would even bring him little treats from her café. Today was one of those lucky days as Mrs. Hudson appeared with a small brown paper bag clutched in one hand which Hamish knew would contain a bun or sweet of some sorts, he grinned in delight and bounded forward to meet her; accidentally knocking another child departing with her mother, he mumbled an apology before continuing his sprint towards the beloved Mrs. Hudson. He almost tripped in the snow that was practically up to his knees and skidded to a halt before her, smiling up expectantly; his pale cheeks rosy with running and presumably the cold.  
Mrs. Hudson gave a light, nervous chuckle when she thought the boy might fall then smiled when he stopped before her, the beautifully content grin curving onto the Hamish lips, reminding her so much of his father she found it almost frightening. “Oh, Hamish…you’re soaking wet,” she sighed as she took in the sodden clothes and damp hair half plastered to the small forehead.  
Hamish shrugged almost innocently, his coat half falling off his shoulder revealing a dripping t-shirt and jumper, “you must be freezing cold,” she continued as she pulled up the collar of his coat in a weak attempt to make him even a little warmer.  
Hamish shook his head, “no Mrs. Hudson, I’m not cold at all.”  
The older woman rolled her eyes but despite herself smiled, “come on let’s get you home, your father and dad will not be pleased to see you in such a state.”  
“They must be used to it by now,” Hamish said and Mrs. Hudson chuckled; so much like his father it was frightening.  
“They still won’t be impressed if you catch a chill,” she warned him as se straightened out the rest of his clothes.  
“I don’t get cold,” Hamish stated simply.  
“Don’t be silly dear, everyone gets cold,” she said then stood. “I hope you like mince pies,” she smiled before handing Hamish the brown paper bag, he giggled in excitement and took it with a small nod.  
“Thank you very much Mrs. Hudson,” he said politely before gingerly reaching in and pulling out the festive desert.  
“No problem sweetie, now let’s head home before we’re late,” she said. “You can eat and walk.”  
***  
“Thank you so much Mrs. Hudson, I don’t know what we’d have done if-“  
“Oh stop it John,” Mrs. Hudson insisted as they looked at the young boy curled up on the sofa from where they sat at the kitchen table; now all dried in a fresh set of clothes and towelled hair. “Hamish is a pleasure to look after; I don’t think you could have asked for a better son,” she said truthfully.  
“No, I don’t think we could,” John agreed quietly as he looked out at Hamish contently watching a repeat of doctor who wrapped up in his dalek blanket; they had adopted him when he was a little younger than one. He and Sherlock had initially never considered adoption, it was only because of the case that they did.  
It was at an orphanage in the north of London; quite a high number of the staff were being murdered but the children were left untouched, the death count had reached over ten by the time he and Sherlock had been called in but still, even by them, a motive hadn’t been worked out. Although, it was the method of the killings which created the most fascinating factor of the case. Each victim had appeared as if they were completely frozen to death; John remembered the delight upon his partner’s features most vividly, the sinister fashion of the murders wonderfully gruesome for the consulting detective and such a challenge that Sherlock simply couldn’t resist. Of course Sherlock had worked out the motive for the multiple killings within the first hours; it turned out that the staff that had been killed had, in fact, been neglecting the children, mistreating them, some in unforgivable ways. Lestrade and his team even managed to convict some of the staff still working at the orphanage who were acting inappropriately and soon enough Sherlock managed to work out that the vengeful crimes all focused around protecting one child; that said child being Hamish, who at the time didn’t actually have a name.  
Sherlock had become very much taken with the small baby, much to everyone’s’ surprise; especially John’s. At that time they had only been together a year, perhaps a little less, but the topic of one day adopting had come up once or twice and when John had met Sherlock’s gaze as he cradled the small child to his chest he had known; John couldn’t and still wouldn’t be able to explain how but he had known then and there. They still hadn’t solved the case over three years later and when Sherlock has the time he goes back to it, it frustrates him far more than he’d like to admit; not knowing who the culprit was let alone how the victims truly died, evidently the detective had many theories but none quite fitted; he vowed to solve it one day and John had no doubt he would.  
“Oh gosh John have you seen this?” Mrs. Hudson gasped as she glanced over the headlines on the paper half scrunched up on the busy table; John’s eyes were pulled back to the table.  
“No, what’s happening this week?” He asked, the sound of exterminations echoing from the television.  
“A bio-enhancing experiment of the army has gone horribly wrong…just look at what happened to this city…”  
John glanced at the picture amidst the text and grimaced at the sight of the ruined buildings, burning roads and crushed cars; horribly wrong didn’t begin to cover it…”you wonder why the army even do these things sometimes,” he sighed.  
“Apparently a…” she read aloud from the article. “A ‘Doctor Banner’ is to blame, seems a little harsh…one man could hardly cause that all by himself.”  
“It’s like when that town was destroyed in the states only five years ago, they blamed it on some random towns folk that had had nothing to do with it,” John pointed out. “They could have hardly torched half a town by themselves without anyone stopping them, you’d think the authorities would have stepped in, and yet they seem all too eager to blame someone.”  
“Was that the town with the unmovable hammer in the desert?”  
”That’s the one,” John nodded.  
“How was the hospital today John?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she set the paper down.  
“Not great,” John admitted. “But I’ve had worse.”  
“Oh I’m sorry love,” she sighed with a sympathetic smile. “Anyway dear I must be going I’m afraid...”  
“Of course Mrs. Hudson,” John waved off. “And thank you so much.”  
“Don’t mention it dearie,” she said, glancing once more at Hamish, who sent her a small smile before she headed out and down into her own flat.  
Once the door closed Hamish turned to his dad, dalek blanket bunched up in his hands, “Daddy, what makes people cold?”  
John frowned subtly and went to sit down beside his son, “why do you ask Hamish?”  
He shrugged, “no reason, just wondered I suppose.”  
“Which episode is this?” John asked glancing at the telly and Hamish grinned.  
“It’s a Christmas one.”


	2. Dreaming of him

Hamish sat among his presents with a gleeful smile upon his face, his eyes shining with the joy of such a tremendous sight, which consisted mainly of the whole Lord of the Rings Lego set and Doctor Who figurines; John thought also he spotted Merlin and Arthur hanging out with some cyber men in the corner by the tree but then he couldn’t be sure from all the Fellow Ship and Bilbo crowding them. The retired army soldier sighed but then smiled despite himself.  
“We’re spoiling him,” he murmured to Sherlock.   
“Blame Mycroft, he’s the one who gave him over half of this,” Sherlock replied as he lent back into the sofa; sipping his hot tea.   
“Let’s just be grateful that he has such good taste,” John said.  
“It’s not hard to deduce that our son likes Doctor Who John,” Sherlock said in a familiar tone, looking over to Hamish currently wearing dalek pyjamas as they spoke.   
John chuckled, “suppose not, we should have made it harder for him.”  
“And have Hamish end up with an umbrella every year, I think not,” Sherlock said, as he placed down his tea down on the cluttered coffee table before he brought up his feet on the worn sofa so he could best lean against John’s shoulder; John relaxed and lent into the touch with a tender smile.  
“Sleepy?”  
Sherlock made a noise of agreement into the fabric of John’s jumper.  
“I told you shouldn’t have stayed up…”  
“Well I could hardly only set up the Shire and not Rivendell could I John? It would be discrimination against Elves,” Sherlock reasoned.   
John chuckled, “very true, although Hobbits are a superior race.”  
Sherlock smirked knowingly, “now I wonder why you’d say that.”

***

Throughout the day more presents were opened, Mycroft visited and Mrs. Hudson came up from upstairs once she’d gotten back from her sisters and they’d all had Christmas dinner together; it was a tranquil environment mixed with the traditional level of stress, John especially getting frustrated when part of the turkey turned blue. Sherlock had tried to assure him it was simply some chemicals from a past experiment that had been left behind in the oven and that they would most likely be harmless; John still insisted in cutting the funny coloured chunk off, ‘most likely’ not being a safe enough reassurance for him. In the New Year they would be travelling to Sherlock’s parents and John’s family were meeting them there, it had become a tradition ever since they’d adopted Hamish; then of course it had been essential that the two families meet.   
After many disagreements and alterations dinner was served, even Mrs. Hudson had to admit that considering the original state of the kitchen they’d done incredibly well and John was simply proud and silently praying that what they’d produced was free of any toxins.   
“Come on Hamish,” John called and soon enough they son bounded forward and set himself at his usual place at the table.  
“Thank you very much for my presents Uncle Mycroft,” he piped and the man in question forced a friendlier smile then was usually capable to him.  
“No problem at all Hamish, I do hope you enjoy them,” he replied.  
“So, where’s Greg?” Sherlock asked as he set himself down at the table alongside John.  
“Gregory is spending Christmas with family,” Mycroft smoothly replied.  
“Perhaps he could join us next year?” John suggested warmly.  
“Perhaps,” Mycroft agreed carefully.   
“Well isn’t this a treat,” Mrs. Hudson smiled as she admired the meal they’d made. “Pass us your plates dears and I’ll give everyone some turkey…”  
“Is Santa supposed to wear red?” Hamish asked with a mouth half full of roasted potato, a knee drawn up to his chest on the chair.  
“Yes,” John nodded, his face somewhat flushed from the amount of wine he’d consumed. “He wears every day.”  
“It can’t be every day,” Hamish mumbled.  
“Why would you say that?” His Dad frowned.  
“Well, last night he was wearing green,” Hamish shrugged and nibbled on a pig in blanket.   
“Last night?” John echoed cautiously. “You saw Santa?”  
Hamish nodded, “yep, and he was wearing green; he wasn’t old either, his hair was dark not grey but he was still tall although…he wasn’t very fat, he was all skinny like Father.”  
“And did you talk to…Santa?” John asked gingerly.  
Hamish shook his head, “no, when I said hello he saw me and then…then he vanished.”  
Later on Sherlock caught John washing up in the kitchen as the others were crowded on the sofa watching a Christmas special of something or other; he lowered his voice so only John could hear.  
“John?”  
John turned and shared a knowing look with his partner, “you dry?”  
Sherlock begrudgingly accepted the tea towel and started to dry the washed pots on the draining board, “it must have been a dream John.”  
John nodded, “what else could it have been?” He then asked with a frown.  
“It being a dream makes no sense John, he knows what Santa is supposed to look like, if he had a dream about him it would only be logical for him to dream of a fat, old man in red…not some skinny, tall man in green,” Sherlock sighed, his gaze drifting to the trio on the sofa; the backs of their heads moving as they laughed at the programme.   
“So…what you’re saying is a tall, skinny man in green broke into our flat…saw our son then scarpered?” John asked in disbelief.   
“A burglar wouldn’t be scared of a child John, he would have least grabbed a few presents on his way out,” Sherlock replied as he put dried dishes away.  
“Maybe it was just a dream,” John said, slightly exasperated.   
“Well it won’t happen again then, if it was or wasn’t…let’s just enjoy Christmas John,” Sherlock eventually said with a small smile.   
“Of course,” John said, biting back a slight frown; he knew how Sherlock hated not knowing things.  
***  
Unfortunately for John and Sherlock the problem didn’t end there. The year whizzed by peacefully, for them; Hamish turned six and proved ever more to be a bright boy who’s intelligence matched that of his father’s but nurturing temperament echoed that of his Dad’s. Soon enough Christmas came round again and once more the appropriate and much appreciated presents were exchanged, everyone came round for dinner and this time Mycroft even brought Greg with him; this excited Hamish considerably.   
“Come, look Greg,” Hamish smiled contently, pulling the other along; Mycroft and John looking on from the kitchen smiling at the sight of Hamish half dragging the inspector across the room to admire the gathering of toys under the tree; many of them ones that had been received last year. Hamish had proclaimed that they must welcome the new toys else they’d be scared.  
“Oh wow,” Greg grinned at the collection setting himself down on the carpet beside Hamish. “These are great.”  
“He’s my favourite,” Hamish said handing Greg a figurine.   
Greg took it and admired it, “who’s this then?”  
“That’s Merlin, the best sorcerer ever,” he boy responded proudly.   
“Did Santa bring him?”  
“Last year, this year he brought Morgana and Mordred,” Hamish said holding them out for him to see.  
“Ah, did you see Santa this year then Hamish?”  
Hamish nodded, “Yes, he was wearing green like before.”  
John stood up from the kitchen table and half ran, half walked over, “what was that Hamish?” He said kneeling down beside his son.   
“I said he was wearing the same thing as before,” Hamish nodded as he placed his Merlin figurines back down in the Shire, where they clearly belonged.   
“Exactly the same as last year? Or did he look different in himself?” John asked.   
“He had the same clothes,” Hamish nodded. “But he looked, more poorly than last year…like he had a cold.”   
“Right,” John said, “did you talk to him?”  
“I said hello again, but he just ran away like last time,” Hamish pouted.   
“Okay, Hamish; you continue playing with Greg,” he said hurriedly standing; he turned to Mycroft.   
“Sherlock will still be downstairs fetching the turkey with Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft interjected and John mumbled a thank you before darting out of the flat to find them.  
Greg gave Mycroft a look and received ‘explain it later’ via mouthing; he nodded and turned back to Hamish.  
“So…where’s Gwen?” He asked as he turned back to the toys.   
“Oh, I don’t like Gwen…she annoys me,” Hamish explained.


End file.
